The willow's slender, gentle boughs
Extending like so many depressed but welcoming arms
Towards the maiden deep below in dark waters.

This is the willow that grows aslant a brook.
This is the tree who witnessed the mad ravings of a girl,
Who watched as she did pick those flowers
And draped them as a noose about her form.

The tree, the only witness to the young woman's fall
Or perhaps a leap, a jump, into the abyss.
It is for her that the willow weeps.